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***
After breakfast, Arthur and Shakira stayed in the hotel room, lounging comfortably in their robes as the sun streamed in through the sheer curtains. The room still carried the warm scent of coffee and pastries, and neither of them seemed in any rush to leave the quiet little bubble they'd slipped into.
They chatted easily, laughing between sips of espresso and lazy stretches on the couch. Arthur learned that the woman Julian had been dancing with last night was named Naya—Shakira's assistant, manager of sorts, and apparently one of her closest friends. Naya had accompanied her to Madrid to help prepare for a big concert happening this Saturday.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "So Naya dragged you into that club too, huh?"
Shakira grinned sheepishly. "Yup. You weren't the only one who got ambushed."
She explained how she and Naya had spent most of last night at dinner, venting over her ex-boyfriend—someone Arthur wisely didn't ask more about. According to Shakira, Naya got so fed up with hearing the same sad story over wine and tapas that she insisted they go out and "shake off the bad energy."
"And that's when everything happened," she said with a shrug, her voice soft but amused.
Arthur chuckled. "That explains the wild dance moves."
"Oh please," she smirked, "you were enjoying every second of it."
"Guilty," he admitted with a grin.
They both laughed, the kind of easy, familiar laughter that usually takes much longer to build. It felt natural, not forced.
Arthur leaned back against the cushions, watching her as she spoke. Shakira didn't seem like a global icon at the moment—no lights, no cameras, no stage persona. Just a woman in a hotel robe with messy hair and a soft smile, talking about last night like it was some strange but wonderful accident.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Arthur got up to answer, revealing Julian and Naya standing on the other side. Julian wore a ridiculous grin, and Naya looked like she'd just run a marathon, holding her phone up dramatically.
"Shakira!" Naya called as she walked in, "We've gotta go. My phone is about to explode. Greco's freaking out."
Shakira groaned, rubbing her forehead. "Ugh, Greco…"
Arthur looked at her curiously.
"My agent," she explained, glancing at him a little sheepishly. "He's probably losing his mind right now. I disappeared all night with no warning. He must think I've been kidnapped."
Arthur nodded, understanding. "Makes sense. You're kind of a big deal."
Shakira rolled her eyes, smiling. "Tell that to Greco when he's done yelling."
She picked up Naya's phone, quickly assuring her agent that she was fine and alive, then grabbed her clothes and tossed her essentials into a small bag with practiced efficiency.
"Duty calls," she sighed, tying her hair up into a loose bun.
Naya was already standing at the door, tapping her foot impatiently. "Come on, Shak, we've got rehearsals in an hour. And Greco wants a meeting before that."
Arthur followed them to the doorway. Shakira paused just as she was about to step out. She turned back, stepped close, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I'm glad I met you last night, Arthur," she said softly, then leaned in and kissed him gently. "Come to the concert, okay? I'll have Naya send you VIP tickets."
Arthur smiled. "No problem."
She lingered for just a second longer, eyes searching his, before turning to join Naya in the hallway.
The moment the door clicked shut, Arthur exhaled and turned back into the room—only to find Julian standing there, arms crossed, wearing the biggest smirk humanly possible.
"Bro," Julian said, tilting his head.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"
Julian leaned forward with mock seriousness. "Was it good?"
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Go to hell."
Julian burst out laughing, and Arthur shook his head, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
****
Arthur and Julian spent the rest of the late morning strolling through the heart of Madrid, their jackets casually slung over their shoulders as the warm sun lit up the cobbled streets. The Plaza Mayor was buzzing with life—street musicians playing upbeat guitar melodies, cafés spilling onto the sidewalks, and tourists snapping photos of the grand architecture.
Arthur walked with his hands in his pockets, trying to focus on the city's charm, but Julian wouldn't shut up.
"Okay, so tell me again," Julian said, nudging him with an elbow as they passed a bakery window. "You actually spent the night with Shakira. Like, 'Hips Don't Lie.' That Shakira? I was too drunk to know who she was last night."
Arthur sighed for the fifth time in ten minutes. "Yes. And stop saying it like I won the lottery."
Julian whistled low, shaking his head. "Bro, you didn't just win the lottery—you hit the jackpot and found a cheat code. I mean, forget football, this is your real legacy."
Arthur chuckled despite himself, pulling out his phone to glance at his messages. Shakira had just texted:
"Landed at rehearsal. Boring already 😴 Save me?"
He smiled, thumb flying over the screen as he typed back:
"Hang in there. Tell your band to play Leeds United anthem until you feel alive again."
Julian peeked over his shoulder. "Damn, already texting like high school sweethearts. You two serious now or what?"
Arthur pocketed the phone with a shrug. "I don't know. It's still early. But… it feels right, y'know?"
Julian nodded slowly, then nudged him again. "You should go for it, man. It's been what? Two years since… what's-her-name, Alloson?"
Arthur's jaw tightened just slightly. "Yeah."
Julian caught the shift but didn't let it go heavy. "Exactly. That chapter's closed, and this new one? Might actually be worth reading. Don't let the past keep you from trying again."
Arthur glanced up at the clear sky, thinking. "It's not just about forgetting the past. It's about not screwing up something real."
"Then don't screw it up," Julian said simply. "Start with the concert. Show up, support her, bring flowers—be that guy. You're already halfway there."
Back across town, in a sleek rehearsal studio filled with instruments, cables, and overworked assistants, Shakira was seated on a padded bench scrolling through her phone between takes. She had a water bottle in one hand and her phone in the other, grinning like a teenager every time it buzzed.
Arthur:
"Bet Naya's watching like a hawk. Blink twice if you're being held hostage."
Shakira giggled silently and texted back:
"Three blinks. Also, she's eavesdropping. I can feel it."
Right on cue, Naya plopped down beside her, eyes gleaming. "You've been glowing since this morning. Spill it. What did he do to you?"
Shakira playfully rolled her eyes. "I'm literally just texting."
"Uh-huh." Naya leaned in closer with a mischievous grin. "So… was he good in bed?"
Shakira didn't answer, but her smile said plenty.
"Oh my God," Naya whispered dramatically. "You are glowing. Like, actual post-coital sunshine levels of glow."
Shakira tossed a cushion at her face. "Shut up."
Naya caught it with a grin. "Hey, I'm just saying—it's nice seeing you like this. You've been through hell. Maybe this Arthur guy is a break you deserved."
Shakira lowered her phone and looked away, thoughtful. "He's different. There's… no agenda. Just this steady, calm energy. Like, for once, I'm not performing. I'm just… me."
Naya softened. "That's rare. Especially for you."
"Yeah," Shakira nodded. "It's scary, too. I don't want to mess this up. Or scare him off."
"He doesn't strike me as the scared type," Naya said. "The guy survived your drunken shenanigans in one night. That's basically Army training."
They both laughed, and Shakira felt her phone buzz again. She looked down, her smile returning.
Arthur:
"Planning your escape yet?"
Shakira:
"Already tunneled halfway under the drum kit. Meet me on the other side."
Meanwhile, Arthur and Julian were sipping cold drinks at a shaded table just off Gran Vía. Arthur kept glancing at his phone, and Julian raised a brow. "Texting again?"
Arthur nodded absently. "She's at rehearsal. Bored."
Julian sipped his drink and smirked. "You're in deep, my guy."
Arthur didn't deny it. "Yeah. Maybe I am."
****
The next evening, the grand concert venue in Madrid was a whirlwind of lights, music, and screaming fans. The air buzzed with anticipation as the audience packed into the arena. Arthur and Julian found themselves in the very front row—VIP seating arranged by Naya, who had slipped Arthur two golden passes with a wink earlier that day.
Arthur, dressed smartly in a charcoal shirt and blazer, looked oddly calm for a man attending a pop megastar's concert, but inside, he was anxious and excited. Julian, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with energy, waving to anyone holding a camera and shouting into the crowd like he was the star.
Then the lights dimmed.
The first chord hit the speakers. The crowd erupted.
Shakira burst onto the stage in a dazzling outfit, her energy electric, her voice crisp and powerful. Every move she made sent waves through the audience. She danced, spun, and sang with the fiery confidence of a woman in her prime—but every now and then, her eyes would flicker to the front row.
And meet Arthur's.
Each time she caught his gaze, her breath hitched just slightly. He wasn't screaming or filming her with a phone like the rest—he was just smiling. That calm, genuine, anchored smile that made her stomach twist and her heart flutter like she was sixteen again. It made her feel exposed and treasured all at once.
Halfway through her third song, their eyes locked for a long second.
Shakira nearly missed her cue.
Arthur smirked.
As the performance continued, those small moments stacked—flashes of eye contact, a playful smile, the occasional wink. By the time the last number ended, Shakira was breathless—not just from dancing, but from the emotional pull of knowing someone was truly watching her, not the stage version of her.
As the final applause rang out and confetti rained down, Arthur stood with the rest of the audience, clapping hard and whistling. Shakira caught his gaze one last time before walking off stage.
Backstage, the mood was chaotic—assistants buzzing around, crew members breaking down sets, laughter and congratulations filling the air. Arthur waited outside her dressing room until a staff member guided him in.
Shakira stood by the mirror, towel draped around her neck, makeup slightly smudged, skin glowing from the stage lights and adrenaline.
"Hey," she said, voice soft but happy.
"You were amazing," Arthur said, genuinely. "I didn't blink the entire time."
She chuckled and walked over to him, pulling off her heels. "You didn't blink? That's not healthy."
They laughed. The conversation meandered. They talked about the lighting, how loud the speakers were, how Julian tried to get on stage at one point but was politely tackled by security. But the tension in the air was unmistakable—something unsaid hung between them.
After a few minutes, Shakira groaned, threw up her hands, and exclaimed, "Ugh, this is frustrating! Okay, I'm going to be direct. Do you still feel sober, and does your offer to be my boyfriend still stand?"
Arthur's eyes widened slightly in surprise, then he laughed and stood up, closing the short distance between them. "I'm dead serious. Look, it's fast, sure. But I haven't felt this way with anyone in a long time. You're funny, real, and you make me feel something I didn't think I'd feel again. I don't want to miss my chance. I want to see where this goes."
Shakira smacked his shoulder with a mock glare. "At least try to be romantic! That sounded like a business proposal."
"I am a businessman, remember?" Arthur grinned. "And this is the biggest deal of my life. High risk, high reward."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, clearly melting a little. Her heart was pounding. The rational part of her warned her not to rush—she'd just gotten out of a bad relationship—but something deep inside said this wasn't a rebound. If she said no now, she'd regret it forever.
Arthur stepped closer, gently wrapping his arms around her waist. She let herself fall against him with a soft sigh.
After a while, she muttered something in Spanish under her breath.
Arthur leaned in. "What was that?"
She looked up into his eyes, smiled shyly, and said, "Nothing. Just cursing myself for not being able to say no to you. I don't know what the future holds, but I want to give this a try."
Arthur smiled, pulled her in, and kissed her deeply. Shakira closed her eyes and melted into him, arms sliding around his neck as the world outside that room disappeared.
Until a loud, awkward cough interrupted them.
They both turned to see Naya standing at the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Behind her, Julian had a massive grin plastered across his face.
Shakira groaned and tried to pull away, but Arthur kept his arms around her. She ended up hiding her blushing face against his neck.
"This is so embarrassing," she muttered.
Arthur patted her back gently. "You're kissing your boyfriend. Why is that embarrassing?"
She groaned louder.
Naya smirked and crossed her arms. "So, you finally got together with your cute little crush, huh, Shak? What now, should I throw you guys a party?"
"No party!" Shakira shot back instantly, face still red. "We need to keep this under wraps. I don't want another media circus relationship."
Arthur nodded. "Yeah, best to keep it quiet. British tabloids already make a fuss every time I scratch my nose. They'd explode if they found out I was dating you."
Then Julian raised his hand sheepishly. "Soooo… that photo I posted of you two kissing with the caption 'new celebrity couple'—I probably shouldn't have done that?"
Arthur's face twitched. Shakira's head snapped up.
"You did what?!" she screeched.
Naya rolled her eyes, smacked Julian's head, and said, "Relax, he's joking. You think I'd let him in here with a phone?"
Arthur and Shakira both exhaled in relief.
Julian, meanwhile, was now trapped in a playful headlock from Naya, his face smushed firmly between her generous assets—as he grinned like an idiot.
"I regret nothing!" he shouted gleefully, muffled.
Arthur just held Shakira tighter and whispered, "Let's keep this between us for a bit."
She nodded. "But if this works… I want to shout it to the world."
Arthur smiled," Who knows, maybe one day you can. Just don't shout too much and ruin your voice. "
Shakira groaned, " You just had to ruin it."